wear your scars
by Miisakee
Summary: Cass and Damian have a conversation about scars and their meaning.


The wind batted Cass's hair wildly as she stepped outside into the crisp snow, her boots crunching. She pulled her coat closer around her and frowned around.

Damian was missing.

He had disappeared immediately after he and Dick arrived back. Cass had already returned from patrol and had been sitting sipping hot chocolate, her navy blue fluffy blanket around her shoulders, as their motorcycles came to stops on the bottom level of the Batcave. Damian had pulled off his motor-cycle helmet and tossed it to the ground, before stalking away, ignoring Dick's attempts at calling him back.

Dick had closed his eyes, sighing, before he took the elevator from the bottom floor up to where Cass was sitting at the Batcomputer. That alone was a sign that something was wrong. Dick almost always jumped up, or climbed if he wasn't feeling in the mood to risk life and limb on a near-impossible jump. For him to bother with taking the elevator that had been installed for Barbara or any injured member of their family to use, he had to be tired.

Cass moved out of the seat, frowning as he dropped into the chair, before running his hand through his hair.

 _"What happened?"_ Cass signed at him.

Dick grimaced. "Talia," he breathed out.

Cass flinched, pulling herself up onto the table next to him. _"What did she do now?"_ she asked, her hands moving rapidly.

Dick watched her hands, before sighing. _"More of the same. She wants me dead, Cassie,"_ Cass smiled at the personal sign for her nickname. _"And Dami got in the way."_ Dick grimaced and his hands fell to his lap completely still. "She does love him, Cassie," he said, staring up at the big computer-screen where Cass had been looking at the news-reports in Hong Kong – still concerned about her city, even though she didn't regret coming back to Gotham, not a bit. The family came first, after all. "She really does. She just…hurts him. So much. I…I don't think she even really _means_ to, she thinks she's doing what's best but…" he trails off.

Cass pulled her legs up and signed slowly. _"Some people don't know how to show love."_

Dick watched her, before he nodded, a sad smile on his face. _"I guess,"_ he signed back. _"I just. I can't understand. Dami's such an amazing kid. He deserves better than this."_

Cass nodded quietly. There wasn't much she could say. For a few minutes, they both sat, motionless. before Dick pushed himself to his feet. _"I should find Dami,"_ he signed. _"I think he was injured."_

" _I'll help_ ," Cass had signed back.

Half-an-hour of searching the house had yielded no fruit, which had led her here, outside the Manor.

Cass took a few steps further, before turning and scanning the big building. Nothing, nothing.

There. On the roof, at the furthest end, Cass could make out a tiny form.

Damian. It had to be. Tim was gone, none of them sure where, and Jason was still unsure about coming to the Manor, even with Bruce…gone. Dick wouldn't have just gone and sat on the roof while Damian was missing, so it had to be Damian.

Cass inhaled cold air, before running forward and starting to climb. The Manor was old and had a lot of ledges and jutting-out bits of decorative stone, so it wasn't challenging. Quickly, Cass ascended and pulled herself onto the roof.

Sure enough, Damian – still dressed in his Robin costume – sat at the very edge of the roof, balanced somewhat precariously. Cass headed over, making sure to make noise so that Damian wasn't startled.

He didn't look up, even as Cass came to stand beside him.

Cass folded, gracefully bending into a cross-legged position.

"What is it, Cain?" Damian's voice was sharp, aggressive. His body told a different story, curled in on himself, his shoulders forward, his head hanging low. Defensive, afraid. Sad.

Cass pulled her knees to her chest and hugged them, laying her chin on her knees. She didn't say anything and Damian just scowled and subsided, letting her sit next to him.

Cass could claim she understood how he was feeling – his mother had hurt him, had hurt the people he cared about so many times, yet he still loved her so much. But she didn't. Not really.

David Cain had not been her father. He had not given her any words, he had not given her the word 'father'. And now, given the gift of words, when Cass looked back and remembered how she felt around him – _dreadpainobeyobey_ – there was only one word that fit what he had been. Master.

Bruce Wayne was her father, in every sense of the word that mattered. And Bruce, for all of his flaws, could never cause this level of pain. He wasn't capable of that much cruelty.

And her mother had such a small role in her life that Cass felt nothing towards her at all.

No, she could not understand Damian's feelings now.

Cass turned to the side to scan her little brother. The same defensive posture, yes, but when she looked closely, she could see that he was bent over his left arm, holding it tightly to his chest.

Cass's eyes narrowed. There. The injury Dick had been worried about.

She turned away. Pulling Damian down and forcing him to get medical attention wouldn't help right now. Cass brushed her fingers against her abdomen, feeling the scars through the light fabric.

Then she shifted in place, pulling first her coat, then her top off, leaving her sports-bra in place.

Beside her, Damian spluttered. "Cain, what on earth are you doing?"

Cass smiled at him. "Wait," she said, before carefully folding her t-shirt and holding it on her lap. The cold made her shiver, but she ignored it. She moved and brushed her hand over the scar on her side. "What…caused it?" she asked.

Damian frowned at her, before he leaned forward and narrowed his eyes at the scar. "Bullet," he said shortly. "It was a bullet. So what?"

Cass breathed slowly, memories of a bullet smashing its way through her five-year-old body, of being beaten for crying out running through her head. She forced the memories back and smiled at Damian, nodding. "Bad scar," she said, pointing at it. "David Cain."

The name is all she needs to say for Damian's lip to curl and for him to nod his head sharply.

Then she moved and found one on her chest. "This one," she says. "What…caused it?"

Damian looked at the scar and frowned. "Shrapnel," he said after a minute. "That was caused by shrapnel."

Cass nodded – she had pushed Dick out of a building, before a bomb had gone out. Thankfully, she hadn't been too close to the bomb, but it had been bad enough. "Good scar," she said. "Saved Dick."

There were other scars on Cass's body, one for each first time she saved a member of her family. Each one a memory of the moment she realised she'd die for them. She could've picked any of them, but Dick was Damian's whole world. That one would carry the most meaning for him.

Sure enough, Damian's expression cleared. He smiled wryly and reached up to his costume. After a few moments of struggling, he got his left arm clear and holds it out, pointing to a small scar on his upper-arm. "I pushed Grayson out of the way of a knife. It caught me," he said. He paused for a moment, brushing his fingers over the scar. "Grayson yelled at me afterwards. It was ridiculous. He alternated between yelling and hugging. Idiot."

Cass laughed.

"When we got back to the cave, he made me promise not to do it ever again. To never save him from something at the expense of myself," Damian's voice trailed off. He stared out at the snow, his eyes far-away.

"Keep it?" Cass asked, desperate to pull his attention back from wherever it went.

Damian sent her a roll of his eyes. "Tt. Of course not. It was a stupid promise anyway. He completely overreacted. This-" he raised his arm. "-barely even needed stitches."

Cass smiled. "He worries," she said quietly.

Damian glanced at her, before he shrugged. "He shouldn't," he said just as quietly.

Cass didn't agree or disagree. Instead she just shifted where she was as they both fell silent.

There was no sound, other than the occasional voices from below. Damian's eyes went distant again, as his hand returned to his now-bare forearm. A long cut stretched from his elbow to his wrist. Not deep, thankfully, but still in need of stitches. Damian's fingers brushed absently over the injury and Cass took a deep breath.

She hated words, or rather, she hated having to use them. Even now, it was difficult to pull them all together and figure out what she had to do with them, then arrange them in the right order and pronounce them all correctly when she said them out loud.

Still. This was important.

Cass pulled herself up and let out the breath slowly. "Some scars," she said slowly. "Are…bad," she reached out and brushed over Damian's forearm. Damian inhaled sharply. "They carry…bad memories. Sad memories. Others," her hand went to the other scar on Damian's upper-arm. "They are…good scars. They carry…good memories. Love memories. Always pain, but not always bad pain."

Cass gripped Damian's hand as he stared at her. "Scars are…map…of our memories. They…important. Good or bad."

Damian stayed silent for a moment. "What if they're both?" he asked finally, his voice quiet. "What if they're good and bad?"

Cass shrugged. "Then we remember good and bad, both."

Damian turned back to the view, before he took a deep breath. "I think I miss my mother," he said, quietly.

Cass pulled her knees to her chest. "I miss my father," she said quietly.

There was another silence, aching, painful. Finally, Cass pushed herself to her feet, holding her hand out. "We...head down. Need stitches."

Damian took one last look at the view, before he nodded and took her hand. She helped him to his feet, before pulling her t-shirt and coat back on.

"Good hot chocolate," she informed him, thinking eagerly of the fresh cup of hot chocolate Alfred had promised her.

Damian rolled his eyes at her. "Tt. Your obsession with that sickeningly sweet drink is beyond me, Cain," he says, before stalking ahead of her.

Cass laughed at him, before swinging herself off the roof and starting to climb down.

They reached the ground, before both ran inside, the cold starting to seep into their clothes.

"Damian," Dick's voice came from the house and he caught Damian in a hug. "There you are. We've been looking for you all over the place," he sent Cass a smile, before turning back to Damian. "Come on. You need to get changed, then Alfred can stitch up that cut you've been trying to hide. Then we can all have hot chocolate."

"Watch _Star Trek_ ," Cass suggested, grinning.

Dick grinned back at her. "Yup. That too. Come on, Dami. Don't you want to watch _Star Trek_ with hot chocolate and popcorn."

Damian rolled his eyes. "Tt. Your imbecilic love of that ridiculous television show is beyond me, Grayson."

"That's not a no," said Dick with a laugh.

Damian scowled, before following Dick to the cave.

Cass went to the kitchen, picking out her hot chocolate and waiting for the others to come back. Soon enough, they did and – after a brief argument between Dick and Damian over the remaining hot chocolate – they headed to the den to watch _Star Trek._

Cass curled up at Dick's side, her head lying on his chest. He absently ran his fingers through her hair, while Damian sat on his other side, scowling.

The first episode started and they all fell silent. Every so often, Damian made annoyed comments on how little sense it made. Cass reached over and poked him in the side every time, making him go quiet until he couldn't resist the urge any more.

He went completely quiet for a while and Cass glanced over at him. He was asleep, his head cushioned by Dick's side. Dick looked down fondly at him, stroking his hair.

" _He'll be okay,"_ Cass signed.

Dick nodded quietly. _"I know."_

They turned their attention back to the screen, where an omnipotent being was getting grounded by his presumably-equally omnipotent parents while Jim looked on in confusion.

Damian would be okay, Cass thought sleepily. They all would be.

She snuggled into Dick's side and Dick resumed running his fingers through her hair. To the music from _Star Trek_ 's credits, Cass fell asleep.


End file.
